


Got It Bad

by molossiamerica (afjakwrites)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Skinny Steve, bucky takes an art class w/ the avengers, shrinkyclinks, steve is the teacher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 08:18:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16404716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afjakwrites/pseuds/molossiamerica
Summary: The Avengers go to a community art class. Bucky falls head over heels for the instructor.





	Got It Bad

**Author's Note:**

> My first fill for the Happy Steve Bingo event! Let me know what you think!

If Bucky was honest, he’d stopped paying attention halfway through his conversation with Natasha the previous week. Usually he took care to listen to his teammates, but it had been two hours since the team had completed one of their more difficult missions and his mind was half on the battlefield and half on his bed. He was dead tired, the weight of exhaustion having settled heavily upon his shoulders mere minutes after the threat had been neutralized. Bucky had adjusted well to his life for the most part, he thought, but it was times like these when his head was more in ‘winter soldier mode’—meaning that he had a singular goal and was hyper-focused on achieving it; his goal at the time being sleep. Hell, by the time Bucky'd realized Natasha was still talking, he was only able to tune in for the last bit. 

“—and since you need more social interaction outside of the team, and it might expose you to a new hobby, we think it would be a good opportunity. The whole team is going to go; I can still sign you up.”

Deciding it was better not to ask Natasha what it was he was signing up for—she was the last person he wanted to piss off, and he knew she didn't take well to being ignored—Bucky had simply nodded his agreement without question. 

“Good. Next Thursday, 2PM. I’ll text you the address.”

Bucky had nodded dumbly, bid her goodnight, and collapsed onto his bed. He’d forgotten all about the conversation by the time he woke, only to be reminded rather abruptly of his mystery plans by a text from Natasha on Thursday morning. She reminded him to meet them at the location and time specified in the text, dressed casually. Bucky had obliged rather reluctantly, arriving ten minutes early to find the rest of his teammates—minus Thor—standing outside of a run-down community center. They were each holding a cup of coffee and, strangely, they had what appeared to be sketchpads tucked under their arms or held in their hands. Bucky approached and was greeted with enthusiasm by his teammates, who were clearly happy that their attempt to get him out of the house had worked. 

“Morning, Barnes,” Natasha said, passing him a cup of coffee and a sketchpad. 

Bucky took the coffee with his flesh hand and accepted the sketchpad with his metal one, blinking curiously down at it. “Er… What’s this for?”

“The flyer said to bring your own sketchbook,” Sam said, as if that explained anything. 

Unwilling to look as stupid as he felt, Bucky decided to play along. He nodded, tucked the sketchbook under his arm, and followed his teammates as they walked into the community center, down a hall, and into an open room. 

Inside there were several tables set up in half-circle around a single table in the center of the room, upon which a few random objects sat: a vase, an apple, a hairbrush, and a flower. A few seats were already occupied by other people, who looked up and gaped at the sight of the Avengers filing in. Two men to Bucky’s left immediately began to whisper to each other, while another woman stared at them in stunned silence. Tony shot a wink her way while the rest of them smiled politely. Bucky glanced around the room impassively before turning toward the team. 

“The hell’s this?” He grumbled. 

“Art therapy,” Tony answered with a shrug. “Pepper said it could be good for de-stressing after missions, and since you’re toeing the line toward agoraphobia, we figured this might be good for you.” 

“Tony!” Clint exclaimed, giving him a disapproving glare. 

“What? Isn’t this what we talked about? Helping America’s oldest vet get out a little more?” 

“We also talked about  _ sensitivity _ ,” Sam interjected. 

“Oh, come on, he’s made of steel!  _ Literally _ ! I think he can handle a little playful banter,” Tony joked. 

From there, Tony and Sam started in on their usual routine—Tony throwing out rapidly more sarcastic and outrageous statements, fueled by Sam’s obvious disapproval and equally sarcastic retorts. But Bucky wasn’t paying attention anymore; no, he was much more focused on the  _ goddamned angel  _ that had just walked into the room. 

The man— _ the most gorgeous man Bucky’d ever seen _ —strode confidently to the front of the room and faced the small crowd with a gentle smile set upon his full pink lips. He was a tiny thing, had to be at least a half a foot shorter than Bucky and he’d be willing to bet the man was hardly one hundred pounds. He was slender everywhere, his plain white button down seeming to hang off his slim shoulders slightly, the fabric of his jeans pooling slightly at the ankles. When his eyes flickered across the room, Bucky nearly went weak in the knees with how gorgeous a hue they were; a bright, astounding blue that was framed perfectly by impeccably thick, long eyelashes. He was so stunning Bucky hadn’t even realized he’d been standing in place, staring like an idiot, until Sam nudged him gently and motioned for him to take a seat. 

“Afternoon, everyone, ‘s good to see you. Looks like we have some newcomers—” the man paused as his eyes ran over Bucky and his teammates, recognizing them instantly. He looked surprised for only a moment before he composed himself and continued,  “...and some familiar faces too. Good to have you all here. I’m Steve Rogers, as some of you already know, and I’m gonna be leading the class. As always, the class is open-ended and you’re free to do whatever you want, but for those of you that are new or that want to follow along, we’re working on the basics of shading. I set up a few things you can use as practice as you want. Feel free to follow along while I do a quick demonstration.”

With that, Steve walked over to a small table where a projector had been set up. He turned it on, waiting as it slowly whirred and clicked its way to life. Steve re-adjusted the angle and slid his sketchbook underneath it, beginning to sketch out the basic form of the vase. As he drew, he directed the class on how and where to shade, but Bucky was having trouble focusing. 

That  _ voice _ ! It was deep, rich and sweet in a way that made Bucky want to dive into it. Hell, he wanted to close his eyes right there and let Steve’s voice whisk him away. It was entirely unfair to subject him to this—how was he supposed to draw anything when the teacher of the class was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen? 

Bucky realized belatedly that the rest of the class had begun drawing, including his teammates. He hurriedly picked up a pencil and tried his best to follow Steve’s lead. He’d never been all that good at art, nor had he cared all that much about it, but there was something about Steve’s easy guidance that made him want to do his best. Soon, almost without realizing it, Bucky had sketched out a halfway decent portrait of the vase under Steve’s instruction. He glanced upward, jolting at the startlingly detailed and accurate drawing of the vase Steve had done. He looked back down at his own drawing and felt his face flush with embarrassment—he wanted to be good at drawing and impress Steve, but it was nowhere near as good as his. 

“Alright,” said Steve as he stood up, “I’m gonna walk around the room now. If you want, you can practice sketching and shading more with the rest of the objects or you can do your own work. Feel free to get my attention if you have any questions; I’m glad to help.” 

With that said, Steve began to mill about the room slowly, starting at the opposite of where Bucky was seated. He peered over the shoulder of a man hunched over his sketchpad and smiled, seeming impressed. Bucky’s heart did a flip in his chest at the sight. 

In vain Bucky struggled to concentrate on sketching, hardly able to take his eyes off of Steve for long enough to put his pencil to the paper. He’d hardly managed to get a rough sketch of the apple by the time Steve had worked his way over. Bucky was acutely aware of the smaller man peering over his shoulder, his heart beginning to thump madly in his chest. 

“That’s a good sketch,” Steve complimented easily. 

Bucky’s face went red and he slowly looked up, hardly able to meet the man’s eyes. “Thanks. I’m, uh, I’m no good at this sort of thing.” 

“If that sketch says anything, you have some potential. What made you want to try an art class out?” 

Bucky cast a glance in Natasha’s direction. She was focused intently on her sketch, but he knew she was listening in; hell, he was sure all of his teammates were. “Er… Jus’ wanted to try something new.” 

Steve nodded his understanding. “Well, it’s a pleasant surprise to have you here,” he said. “Did you have any questions?” 

“Er—how long have you been teaching this class?” Bucky asked before he could stop himself, desperate to keep the conversation going.

Steve’s smile turned into one of amusement and he chuckled softly. Bucky realized with embarrassment that Steve had meant about artistic techniques and felt his face grow hot once again. He wanted to smack himself upside the head for being such an idiot in front of someone so stunning, so obviously out of his league, but Steve’s eyes shone with a humor that eased Bucky’s mind somewhat. At least his stupidity was entertaining Steve.

“I started teaching this class about two years ago. My friend taught it before me.” Steve replied, grinning. God, the line of his jaw was sharp enough to cut through steel. 

“Do you teach anywhere else?” 

“I do! I teach art and history at a college not far from here.” 

The mental image of Steve as a professor made Bucky want to go back to school. “Wow. D’you—“ 

“Mr. Rogers?” Asked Tony, raising his hand from down the line. 

Steve gave Bucky an apologetic smile and patted him on the shoulder. “Sorry. If you wanna talk more, you’re welcome to stop by after class,” he said as he turned toward Tony and walked off. 

Bucky’s shoulder burned with the heat of Steve’s touch even through three layers of clothing. Although they didn’t talk again through the class, Bucky was hyper-aware of Steve’s movements throughout the class. Although he desperately wanted to, Bucky refrained from raising his hand, knowing it would only distract from those that actually wanted to learn. Instead he contented himself with watching Steve as he bounced from person to person, answering questions with a kind smile upon his handsome face. Occasionally he’d take a pencil from his pocket and lean over someone’s paper, his brows furrowed in concentration and his mouth set in a smooth line as he went about making adjustments to their drawing. It hypnotizing watching him work; passion was practically etched into his face.

Eventually Steve announced that class was over and everyone began packing up their things. Nervously, Bucky picked up his sketchbook and approached Steve.

“Hey,” greeted Steve easily, “how’d I do? Think you’ll come back?”

“Yes,” answered Bucky so quickly he’d nearly cut Steve off. “Er--I’m James, by the way. You can call me Bucky.” 

He offered his hand to Steve to shake, realizing a fraction of a second too late that it was his metal one and not his flesh one. He expected Steve to flinch, to recoil with his face twisted in disgust, but the man took his hand without so much as a twitch, his hand slipping into Bucky’s, small but with a firm grip. Bucky was pleasantly surprised by Steve’s lack of a reaction, but he still wished he’d offered his flesh hand if only to feel Steve’s skin against his. 

Mesmerizing blue eyes crinkled at the corners as Steve smiled. “I know,” he laughed, “don’t think there’s a person in New York who doesn’t know who you and your team are. Nice to meet you in person, though.”

Bucky blushed, embarrassed. “Thanks, but I’m not all that great. Really, I just follow their lead.”

Steve frowned, two lines forming upon his forehead as his brows drew closer together. “Don’t give them all the credit. You’ve done great things in the past and the present,” Steve said, his eyes so painfully sincere that Bucky could swear he felt his legs turning to mush beneath him. 

“Thanks,” he said again, sheepish. “Um, I was, uh, wondering if you’d wanna meet for coffee sometime. We could, uh, we could discuss… art stuff,” he suggested and immediately gave himself a mental slap for his ridiculously clumsy wording. It was times like this when Bucky wished he could channel the older version of himself--the charming, suave,  _ make the ladies swoon and the fellas faint _ him--more than anything. 

Steve raised a brow. “You’re--are you asking me on a date?” 

Bucky felt himself go red to the tips of his ears. “Er--yeah. If you wanna, that is. I, um, you’re… you have a nice… look.” 

Steve started to laugh then, his pale cheeks coloring. “Are you trying to tell me I’m attractive?”

Bucky really wanted to kick himself. Christ, he was horrible at this. At least Steve was blushing, though; the sight of him with his eyes slotted and his shoulders shaking with laughter, cheeks rosy, was so intoxicating Bucky swore his head was spinning. His shoulders slumped and he nearly drooled looking at the gorgeous man in front of him. 

“Er--yeah. I’m shit at this, aren’t I?” Bucky sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. 

Steve laughed again. “Yeah, but it’s funny. We can grab a coffee any time--let me give you my number,” he said, bending over to scribble a line of digits onto the corner of a piece of sketch paper. He ripped the end of the page off and passed it to Bucky, who took it in his flesh hand and held it as though it were the most precious thing he’d ever been entrusted with. 

“Can I buy you one now?” Bucky asked, once again without thinking. 

Steve looked up, eyes widened. He was clearly startled by Bucky’s enthusiasm. Three seconds ticked by in silence before Steve’s face evened out and he nodded, the blush on his cheeks darkening to Bucky’s delight. “Sure,” he replied, “let me grab my things. I know I place just down the street, if that’s alright.”

“Sounds great,” Bucky replied a bit too enthusiastically, bending over to help Steve gather up the various art supplies he’d left skewed across his desk. Within moments it had all been hastily shoved into a messenger bag which was then slung over Steve’s shoulder. 

Bucky and Steve turned to leave, Bucky starting at the sight of his teammates standing in the doorway staring at them. Tony was grinning, Sam and Natasha were smiling wryly, and Clint gave him a thumbs-up. Beside him, Bucky heard Steve snort. 

“Steve and I are going to grab a coffee.” Bucky explained, unbelievably embarrassed. 

Natasha’s smile turned into a grin and she nodded, quickly gesturing for the rest of the team to follow. Bucky and Steve watched them leave, Bucky embarrassed and Steve amused. 

“So--coffee?” Steve asked, placing a gentle hand on Bucky’s elbow as he led them out of the room.

Bucky could only nod dumbly, his brain going fuzzy and his body melting where Steve touched him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Kelci for beta reading! <3


End file.
